


Amaranthine

by UnderlandsCreator



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, xxxHoLic
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Families of Choice, Friendship, Gen, Mystery, Mythical Beings & Creatures
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2018-12-24 20:39:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12020580
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnderlandsCreator/pseuds/UnderlandsCreator
Summary: Is the cost of a friend one always worth paying?Is the promise of one life in exchange for another, a bargain worth making?When the line between want and need was always blurred to begin with, how easy is the choice, one for the other?Want, for need?





	Amaranthine

**Author's Note:**

> Ring  
> verb  
> 1\. surround (someone or something), especially for protection or containment.  
> synonyms: surround, circle, encircle, encompass, girdle, enclose, hem in, confine, seal off

   

_Thump._

 

_Thump._

 

_Thump._

The sound of Dudley kicking his ball against the door of the cupboard echoed in the small space, and the shock of each hit echoed through his body, the sound ringing in Harry's head like the tick-tock of the clock, counting down each second he was trapped in the house until he could finally leave.

He sat with his back against the door, sweat making the too large shirt and shorts stick to his body like a grimy second skin. It made just the idea of waiting out his time on his broken cot one that he couldn't stand.

Harry shuddered just thinking about the feel of the over warm cotton, the thin fabric, damp with his sweat, doing its best to cling and drag on him until he felt like he was suffocating in the still air of the cupboard. 

Even more than when he was outside, Harry could feel the summer heat pressing down on him, making the already small cramped space feel more like he was trapped in a tiny, dark shoe box.

That someone had just put in an oven.

It was like all the heat in the house had decided that since it couldn't reach Petunia and Vernon in their air-conditioned room, or Dudley where he sat in the living room watching TV, well, at least until he decided that kicking his ball as close to Harry as he could currently get was a better use of his time, that the next best target was Harry, trapped as he was.

Harry sighed, pushing his hair back so that it was more or less tucked behind his ears, and scooted back so that he was as close to the crack underneath the door as he could manage, a slight breeze from the fan making its way in and weakly touching his bare feet and hands where they were pressed flat to the floor, making those two places feel, at least for a second, less stuck in an oven hot, and more right next to a fire hot, which honestly, wasn't much better.

The chime of the actual clock hitting the hour mark was like a tall glass, no,  _pitcher_ of water, filled to the brim and almost overflowing with ice, and while he would have given anything to have that right now, the chime of the clock was even better, because that meant that  _finally,_ he could leave.

If there was one thing, well, actually no, there was one, and  _only_ one thing that Harry didn't mind about living with the Dursleys.

And that one thing was the fact that as soon as he was finished with his chores, and unless he needed to be back at the house to help make a dinner that, if he was lucky, he might be given the picked over leftovers of, he was free to, well he says free but it's more like he is very, _very_ strongly advised to be out of the house unless he absolutely needs to back, because according to the Dursleys, the less they see of him the better. Out of sight, out of mind, and he couldn't agree with them more.

Though half of him couldn't help but think that this was the Dursleys way of making sure that some random stranger might see him and whisk him away, and the other half was honestly waiting for the same thing.

Unfortunately, since he was once again leaving the house on a nice, sweltering summer day, it seemed like neither of them was getting what they wanted.

Yet.

He was still holding out hope, but until then, here he was.

Besides some general dusting and tidying up, which he had finished earlier, Petunia didn't really have much for him to do today, and since she hadn't given him anything else to do, he was expected to be out of the house by 4, and while it wasn’t any better outside, he would rather be out than in any day.

Harry stood slowly and slipped his beaten up shoes on, having learned the hard way that standing up quickly when he was also hot, hungry, and thirsty only led to him feeling dizzy and seeing black spots, the feeling sometimes enough to even make him pass out a few times, an experience which always left him with a headache and feeling sick afterwards, and something that he wasn't eager to go through again.

Dudley was still kicking the ball against the cupboard door, so when Harry swung it open the ball bounced off and headed towards the kitchen instead of back to Dudley, who was standing a few feet away from Harry, staring at him in shock, apparently surprised that he would dare open the door when his mother wasn't around.

“Hey Freak, you can’t-“

Instead of waiting around to see what Dudley would do once he finished speaking, Harry quickly made his way over to the front door and left.

It was only a matter of time before Dudley either decided to complain to his mother that Harry had left, like she didn’t already know, or he realized that Harry would make a better target for his ball than a door, and he didn't want to be around when he finally did, or if he decided that despite the heat, now would be a perfect time for a game of Harry Hunting.

With that thought in mind, Harry turned his walk to the park into more of a light jog, hoping that despite the park being the only place he could really go, Dudley in all his, _Dudleyness,_ wouldn’t think to check there first.

Though him being in the park was not to be mistaken with him _playing_ in the park, because those were two very different things.  _Playing_ in the park meant making himself an easy and very visible target for Dudley and his gang of bullies, while  _being_ in the park meant hiding himself away at the back where some bushes and a group of trees that seemed like they were trying their hardest to become a forest, but weren't really succeeding, were.

And that was where Harry was heading now, because not only would he be sheltered by what little shade the trees were able to provide, he was also completely hidden from sight, giving Dudley no chance of finding him.

Though that wasn't the only reason why he loved his little hideaway in the trees, no, the real reason was that he was able to do the one thing freely that, if he ever caught him doing it, might actually make Vernon’s head explode.

He was able to do the m-word.

In his little corner of the park, the one place in the whole world that he could say was his, Harry was able to do  _magic._

It was the only explanation for the strange power inside of him that let him somehow open the lock on the cupboard door at night when he desperately needed a drink of water, the only explanation for how he turned his teachers wig blue, the only answer to how he appeared on the rooftop of his school that one time, the only explanation why, for no reason at all, the Dursleys hated him so much, even though they were supposed to be his family.

It was because he had something special inside of him, something wonderful, and amazing, and, and simply  _magical,_ something that the Dursleys would never have, no matter how hard they tried, because they didn’t deserve to have what Harry had, especially since they treated him like they did because he wasn't like them.

For Harry, lots of things in his life were unfair, were things that he had no control over and he couldn't do anything about, but he was happy that for all the things that were unfair, the one thing fair was that he had his magic, and that the Dursleys didn't.

In his spot hidden by the trees, he was able to do as much magic as he could imagine, and that was where he happily headed now, a smile on his face as he lifted the collar of his oversized t-shirt and mopped up the sweat dripping down his face.

All the happiness in the world wouldn't make the day any less hot though, Harry thought, frowning as he tried to swallow around his dry throat, or give him a bottle of water, something that his magic didn't seem able to give him. But he would feel better once he made it under the cover of the shade.

Harry finally reached the bushes that marked the beginning of the trees, and, making sure no one was looking, ducked down and pushed his way through, ignoring the scrapes the branches of the bush left on his arms and cheeks, making sure he crossed his arms over his glasses so that they didn't get scratched too.

This was always his least favorite part of getting to his hideaway, but with a few more steps he made it out on the other side in a burst of movement, making the bush rustle and leaving him still hot and sticky with sweat, but now with added leaves and loose twigs stuck to his skin and all over his clothes, and a small Harry-shaped hole in the bush that filled back in as he watched it.

Harry made his way further into the cover of the trees, dusting himself off as best as he could, though he would bet anything that there would still be a stubborn leaf or two tangled up in his hair by the time he got back to his cupboard. Harry huffed, blowing out his cheeks before he decided to just leave it as a lost cause.

From here on, the path was pretty straightforward, he just had to go around this tree here, under that branch there, and then he was in the little area, hidden by the bushes and the trees pushed close together, that Harry considered his.

The space wasn't too big, just wide enough that he was able to draw a nice even circle on the ground with a stick that he had found, one that he could sit inside or lay down in with no part of his body going outside it.

The circle was still okay from yesterday, so Harry slipped his shoes off outside of it, curling and uncurling his toes in the cool, damp grass, before he stepped inside and laid himself down.

Harry stared up at the tree branches, small beams of sunlight poking through where the leaves didn't completely block out the sun, and closed his eyes, tugging his broken glasses off and letting them land somewhere next to him, finally letting himself relax in the shade and slight breeze, which was a thousand times better than being in his cupboard.

If he could, Harry would spend every second of every day out here, never mind the bugs, or rain, or having to sleep outside, because the moment he drew his circle and stepped inside, he wasn't Freak, Boy, or the weird kid with no friends.

He wasn't anyone that he didn't want to be, or _anywhere_ that he didn't want to be.

He wasn't unwanted or unneeded, hated or made fun of.

He wasn't disgusting, or worthless, or useless.

In his circle, he could be just Harry if he wanted, or nothing at all. He could be a magician in a castle, or an explorer in a faraway land. He could be a bird, or a flower, or a cloud. And if he wanted, he could just be a boy who could do magic, who could make a flower in every color of the rainbow from a blade of grass, or a crystal butterfly from a tiny pebble.

He could be happy, not angry or sad or hurt, but happy, just that.

When Harry made his circle and stepped inside, he was creating a little world, just for him, and even if it was just for an hour, he was free.

He opened his eyes and saw the treetops again, now hazy and blurry and rolled onto his side. He felt like making flowers today, bright and striking like a flash of lightning, an electric bluish white, his small wish that maybe a storm would come and break the heat wave.

Harry set to work, lazily plucking blades of grass, flowers popping into existence and surrounding him like little drops of light, and before he knew it he was drifting off to sleep, lulled by the coolness of the shade and the sweet summer breeze, the conversation of the birds a lullaby.                                       

* * *

 

Harry woke up slowly and stretched, startled to feel grass tickling against his bare skin as he did. He opened his eyes to see that the sunbeams of what felt like just a few minutes ago were now replaced with moonlight, the full moon that he could just make out through the leaves filling his little clearing with bright spots of its light.

He sat up, smiling as he found his glasses hidden beneath some of the flowers he had made, their petals bright and casting a faint glow where they rested in the grass.

Harry picked up one of the flowers and absentmindedly twirled it between his fingers as he debated with himself over whether or not he should try and go back to the Dursleys now or later.

Considering how late it was, odds were if he went now and anyone was still awake they would leave him outside just to get a good laugh or two out of him being locked outside, but on the other hand, they would probably be angry at him for not...

Harry paused in his thoughts, trying to make sense of the odd sight in front of him.

Just outside his circle, laying in one of the small spots of moonlight was a large black feather, too big to belong to any of the bird that made their home in the park. It shone iridescent in the light, a rainbow of blue and green and purple.

Harry looked around, hoping to maybe see the bird that had dropped it if it was still there, but was soon brought up short, his eyes widening and body shocked still at what he saw, just behind the feather, and almost as tall as the tree it was leaning against.

It was like a huge lump of shadow, but darker than anything he had ever seen before, a black that seemed to suck in the light around it. The...head of whatever it was, was a large bird skull, the bone bleached white, and inside the eye holes nothing but more darkness. Beneath the head was almost like the fur collar on Petunia’s fanciest jacket, but instead of fur the collar was made out of strange small reddish-purple flowers all bunched together, short strings of them hanging down onto what, as he looked closer, wasn't just a deep black shadow, but what had feathers of all shapes and sizes, all dyed black, appearing in and out of the black mass, like they were shifting around.

Harry looked back up to where the things eyes were supposed to be, and saw that the head was slightly tilted to the side, like it was staring straight back at him.

Harry closed his eyes, thinking that he had to still be dreaming, but when he opened them again the thing was still there, still looking at him, only now, there was a voice in his head too.


End file.
